<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Actions Speak Louder Than Words by teaswt</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26071858">Actions Speak Louder Than Words</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaswt/pseuds/teaswt'>teaswt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>challenge prompts! [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>American Sign Language, Anxiety, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Blushing, Boys Kissing, Cats, Cutesy, Deaf Character, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Forehead Kisses, Girls Kissing, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Swearing, Muscular Atrophy, Muteness, Mutual Pining, Physical Disability, Pining James Griffin (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Plants, Post-it Notes, Premarital hand-holding, References to Depression, Service Dog Keith's Wolf (Voltron), Sleepovers, Sleepy Cuddles, Study Date, Terminal Illnesses, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, UHH Thats It, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, literally so cute, my heart, no one dies okay, oh I forgot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:47:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,481</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26071858</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaswt/pseuds/teaswt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with a note.</p>
<p>At the time, James didn't think one little note would be the single piece that completely turns his life around.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adam/Shiro (Voltron), James Griffin/Keith (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>challenge prompts! [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892710</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Hey Stranger!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/aijouu/gifts">aijouu</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome back to another prompt challenge with @aijouu !!</p>
<p>This week's challenge is falling in love without audibly expressing it! I'll admit this was a bit of a tricky one for me, but after a good week of thinking, I finally found the perfect way!</p>
<p>This will be a multi-part one shot that revolves around fluff with minor allusions to angst and such (mind the tags). Please enjoy! I'm super excited for you guys to read the ending for this! I plan to have it be super super cute!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It all started with a note.</p>
<p>At the time, James didn't think one little note would be the single piece that completely turns his life around.</p>
<p>You see, James Griffin lost his hearing in a freak accident playing baseball back in his freshman year of high school. After being struck with a potential home-run bullet, James' eardrums ruptured beyond restoration. He's completely deaf in his right ear while his left can pick up succinct sounds powerful enough to hear, like jets dashing, people shouting, cars screeching--really loud stuff.</p>
<p>His life altered significantly after that. Because of the austerity of his injury, James was forced out of his beloved pastime and now necessitated an interpreter in every single one of his classes. As intelligent as he is, it's grown more and more frustrating to keep his top-of-the-class rank. Barely being able to learn sign language on top of all his other teaching is slowly strangling him. </p>
<p>The only good thing about all of it was the fact that his friends took it upon themselves to discover ways to better communicate with him. Ina is already fluent in sign language, Nadia is still studying and writing messy notes for him, and Ryan just gives him certain looks; silent communicating is such a twin telepathy device, but sometimes that's the only way to socialize collectively.</p>
<p>They have all been friends since they were in primary school, but he and Ryan have been best friends since diapers. They were all close-knit companions who will (and have--Nadia) get into fights to protect one another. They were the first faces James recognized when he woke up from surgery. They were the ones who kept him company and comforted him when things just became too much for him to manage. James loves them; they're his family. </p>
<p>Recently, though, they've been a little distanced. </p>
<p>Finals are coming up within the next two weeks and they were all occupied trying to cram in as much information as they can. It doesn't help that their courses are harder than a fuck-boy's dick in the morning.</p>
<p>James sighs to himself, leaning forward to knock his head against the table, earning incredulous looks from nearby students and library assistants.</p>
<p>Apparently trying to give yourself a concussion to get rid of a headache does not, in fact, get rid of your headache. </p>
<p>A light tap on his shoulder makes his throbbing head rise, eyes meeting a pair of dazzling purple nebulas. </p>
<p>Blinking, James offers an apologetic smile only making the boy frown. He opens his mouth to speak before clamping it shut, nose scrunching in what James assumes is frustration. </p>
<p>Does this kid know that he can't hear him if he was trying to speak?</p>
<p>Before James can even try and ask or push to understand what's amiss, the boy plops next to him and abandons his book bag beside James', obviously not giving a damn about James' sounds of objection. James gives the kid a shove, only to be hastily ignored as the other grabbed his notebook and flipped to an open page.</p>
<p>James splutters, scrambling to snatch his journal back, but the other simply elbows him away with his right hand and proceeds to jot with his left. He's seriously debating screeching or punching this kid until his notebook gets rudely shoved into his face.</p>
<p>'𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃'𝓉 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓀. 𝐼 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝓀𝒶𝓎.'</p>
<p>James gawks at the words for a minute, softly applauding the elegant cursive writing before he really lets the message sink in.</p>
<p>This boy is mute, he realizes, he isn't the only disabled-bodied teenager at the school.</p>
<p>Hesitantly, but excitedly, James takes the notebook back and begins writing, '𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚑, 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝'. This earns a perplexed look from the raven. James quickly adds, '𝙸'𝚖 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚏'. </p>
<p>He half expects a look of pity, a word-full (pencil-full?) of apologies and condolences and some stupid puppy-eyed look. It makes him sick how once people find out he's deaf they start approaching him like an orphaned baby. He's still James Griffin--straight-A student, book lover, academic-scholarship shooting, student council president, happy fun-loving kid. Deaf or not.</p>
<p>Bring spared the sappy predilection, the boy fishes a pen from his bag and writes beside James. '𝒮𝓊𝒸𝓀𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉. 𝒜𝓉 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝓊𝓂𝒷𝒶𝓈𝓈 𝒷𝓊𝓁𝓁𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝑔𝑜𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹'.</p>
<p>James can't help but snort. '𝙸𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚜, 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑'.</p>
<p>The other seems to grow more visibly unwound as their conversation progresses. '𝐼 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓃'𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇?'</p>
<p>'𝙽𝚊𝚑, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛. 𝙶𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎.' James taps the scar. '𝙸'𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎'.</p>
<p>James watches the other's violet eyes scan the sentence, pupils dilating with understanding. He tucks his hair behind his ear. '𝐼 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓃𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃'𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝑔𝑜𝓉 𝒽𝒾𝓉'. </p>
<p>So word really did go 'round back then. huh?</p>
<p>As if reading his thoughts, the other pens, '𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓅𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑜𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝐼𝓉'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝒶 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓈𝒾𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓈𝒸𝒽𝑜𝓁𝒶𝓇𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓃 𝒾𝓃𝒿𝓊𝓇𝓎.'</p>
<p>To some people, those words would be insulting; this kid probably would've been accused of invalidating someone's circumstances or connecting it to the narrative people have it worse off than you.</p>
<p>But James found it strangely comforting. Although it was frank, James could tell this boy was just trying to reassure him that he wasn't alone; that he wasn't mourning over the life he once had all by himself.</p>
<p>Smiling, James asks. '𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞? 𝙷𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚞𝚝𝚎?'</p>
<p>The other shakes his head. '𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝓋𝑜𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝒾𝒹𝒹𝓁𝑒 𝓈𝒸𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓁. 𝒟𝑜𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝓈𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓇𝓊𝓅𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝓋𝑜𝒸𝒶𝓁 𝒸𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓊𝓈𝑒.'</p>
<p>'𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚎? 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚒𝚛 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐?'</p>
<p>Again, the boy shakes his head. '𝒮𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝒸𝓇𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉'.</p>
<p>James lowers. Screaming and crying? He didn't even think it was possible to scream bloody murder and lose your voice. He always thought it was something that advanced over time like malignancy or muscular atrophy. </p>
<p>He picks up his pencil, but the other stops him. </p>
<p>'𝑀𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝒹 𝒹𝒾𝑒𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝑒,' then his brows furrow and he adds, '𝒟𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝑜𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝑀𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝒹 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝑒𝒻𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇. 𝐻𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑜. 𝐼'𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓈𝒶𝒹 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒'.</p>
<p>James can't help but feel commiseration. </p>
<p>If this kid lost his speech because of screaming, then he can grievously suspect that he was present when his father passed away. James could never imagine watching one or both his parents burn alive, helplessly shrieking and struggling to reach them, only to be hauled away with embers forever scorched in his eyes.</p>
<p>A hard punch to his arm jostles him out of his thoughts. Wincing, he turns to meet the other's annoyed scowl. He taps something he had written while James had been enveloped in his own despondent attempt to empathize with this boy in some form. </p>
<p>'𝒲𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝒽𝓊𝓉 𝓊𝓅?'</p>
<p>'𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐'.</p>
<p>'𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃'𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜'.</p>
<p>James lifts his gaze to meet the other's eyes, both quietly sitting there, letting the weight of understanding fall upon their shoulders. </p>
<p>He goes to write something else before the raven's attention snapped elsewhere. A tan fellow marches over, his mouth moving too fast for James to register. He looks at the raven again, surprised when he moves his hands--left palm up and open and the right palm simulating the position, dorsal patting the open left palm. Good, he signed. So the other must've asked him how he was doing.</p>
<p>The good-looking boy says something more that causes the raven to perk in attention. He turns to write in James' notebook again. '𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝑜. 𝐼'𝓋𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒'.</p>
<p>He throws his book bag over his shoulder, offering a petite smile.</p>
<p>James quickly writes something and shoves the journal into the other's face. '𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎? 𝙸'𝚖 𝙹𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜'.</p>
<p>The boy laughs. Instead of writing, the other raises his hand. </p>
<p>He presents a sideways peace-sign with his thumb pressed between his middle and index finger. </p>
<p>K.</p>
<p>Then he shifts so his palm faces James in a closed-five hand. His fingers bend at the second knuckle while his thumb extends outward. </p>
<p>E. </p>
<p>His fingers curve into an O-shape, pinky sticking skyward. </p>
<p>I.</p>
<p>He curls his hand into a fist with his thumb nestling between his middle and forefingers.</p>
<p>T.</p>
<p>Finally, he does a sideways peace-sign again, only this time his fingers touch together and this thumb hovers perpendicular to them.</p>
<p>H.</p>
<p>James beams, signing a quick thank you before Keith waves and hurries to follow his friend out the door.</p>
<p>Keith, he recalls. I like that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Not Just a Pretty Face</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He hopes whatever is churning in his belly is just insignificant anxiety.</p><p>He doesn't know what the future would look like if it happened.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger Warnings: Allusions to self-harm (imagery); Discussion about anxiety and panic attacks; Referenced Depression; Assumptions of suicide/self-harm (not directly mentioned whatsoever, merely alluded)</p><p>I promise this pic is fluff :( There's bits of angst here and there, but nothing is graphic and/or directly witnessed or described. A lot of this fic is hurt and comfort; very soft but also having a bit of external influences in order to confide within another.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next time he sees Keith is when James is sitting in a coffee shop going over literary terms that he just can't seem to get down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith had magically materialized in front of him and dumped a math notebook with red pen strokes scrawled all over. He had this adorable puppy-look in his eyes that instantly had James leaving his studying to help this cute boy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'𝙸 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐?' James asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They've been here for a little over an hour or so cramming, conversing, and then back to studying again. James honestly finds it adorable whenever Keith's lips purse together when he gets stuck on an equation or the way his nose scrunches when he second-guesses himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith sulks. '𝐼'𝓋𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒽. 𝒮𝑜, 𝐼 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝐼'𝒹 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊.' </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝙸'𝚖 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚑?'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'𝒟𝓊𝒹𝑒, 𝓌𝑒 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝒷𝑜𝑜𝓀.'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James colors. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, right..</span>
  </em>
  <span> he must've forgotten--too wrapped up at the moment to pay all that much attention.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith's pen suddenly taps the dorsal of his hand then taps the yellow lined paper lurking beneath Keith's math work. '𝐼 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝓃𝑜 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓇𝓎 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝒾𝒸𝑒𝓈?' he writes, parodying James' previous words, causing the brunette to playfully glare in reply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'𝙽𝚘, 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐.' James grins bashfully. '𝙸𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸'𝚖 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚜.'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith nods in understanding. '𝒟𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓅? 𝐼'𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓊𝒸𝒽. 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓀𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝒶𝓉𝒽.' A little simper appears on Keith's face, a sole dimple rising on his cheek. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James' eyes brighten up, both from the proposal and from the way Keith's grin makes his heart vault out of his chest. The other boy must've noticed him gawking in excitement because his cheeks flush red and his eyes dart elsewhere, fingers toying with the end of the fluffy sleeve of his sweater. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James stretches over the table, fingertips touching Keith's gloved hand, a reassuring smile on his features. He picks up Keith's pen and writes, '𝙸'𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 :) 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚑! 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚏𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At this, Keith gives a hint of a laugh, still ducking behind his blush. Carefully, he takes his pen from James' hand and shyly says, '𝑅𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 ♥ 𝐼𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒻𝒾𝒸 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝒹 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝓊𝒹𝓎?' </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That sweet little heart had James nearly tumbling over with love-struck dizziness. Of course, he kept assuring himself not to overthink the small emote; they've only known each other for a <em>week</em> and hung out <em>twice</em>, sometimes catching warm glimpses in the hall between classes. The few times he's seen Keith, he'd always had a large Australian Shepard by his side. A service dog, James figures--he queries why Keith didn't have the dog with him now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'𝙸'𝚖 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔. 𝚆𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢? 𝙾𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜! 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞!' James writes quickly, panicked at how forward his words must've sounded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Covering his mouth, Keith seems to be laughing (can mute people laugh? James doesn't know). James bets Keith's laughter is beautiful, bubbly, and vivacious, copying the sweetness of a child's giggle. Dreamily, James sighs. <em>Oh</em>, he wishes he could hear that twinkling noise--he wishes Keith was able to emit such rich music. James bets Keith's tongue alone is worth a million dollars, maybe even considered priceless compared to a canary's birdsong. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The traumas that took place demolished their lives, flipping them upside-down and turning them inside-out. Even notwithstanding this, they seem to be getting by as if nothing happened. They walked the earth shouldering the burdens of their disabilities and embraced the dissimilar part of them. Although defeating at times, they've gradually learned to walk alongside what represses them rather than hauling it behind them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes it perplexes James how far he'd come since first waking up in silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wonders if Keith learned to live rather than dwell as he has. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎. 𝑀𝒶𝓎𝒷𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓂𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝒸𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝒶𝒸𝑒𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝒾𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒𝑒.' Keith writes, rolling his eyes in exasperation, making James laugh. He understands plenty--horny companions are no fun sometimes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'𝐼 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽.' Keith then adds, nose wrinkling in a bright dawn-tinted embarrassment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James, too, blushes. Though, he really can't but smile wide. '𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞,' he replies. '𝙳𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝? 𝚆𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚛.' James proposes, curling one leg over the other. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan or Nadia usually drive him wherever he needed to go since James was too petrified of driving without his hearing. He wanted to avoid any of his friends taking him and Keith anywhere. They'd make a big deal out of it, even <em>Ina</em>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith nods, thumbing toward the window and jabbing in the direction of a shiny red MV Agusta F4 R 312 leaning magnificently against its kickstand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh Lord, if it was possible to orgasm with a just display, James would've needed a change of pants right about now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓊𝓈 𝒷𝑜𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉,' he writes. '𝒴𝑜𝓊'𝒹 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝑜𝑔 𝓈𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓇.'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith hit James' nose with his pen, giving him a </span>
  <em>
    <span>pay attention</span>
  </em>
  <span> look, earning a wide-eyed blush from the awestruck brunette. He glances at what Keith wrote, having to take another minute to not cream himself at the mere fabrication of riding such a delicacy. And with Keith on top of that? Was James dead? He's got to be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚠𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎! 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍? 𝙸'𝚖 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎 :)' James suggests, silently hoping that Keith would accept and perhaps stay longer if he so wants. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>That's not creepy, is it?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith seems to be entertained with the offer and gladly agrees. '𝒴𝑒𝒶𝒽, 𝓉𝑜𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 ♥ 𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝒸𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓁 𝐹𝓇𝒾𝒹𝒶𝓎, 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉? 𝐻𝑒𝓇𝑒'𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝓃𝓊𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝒾𝓃 𝒸𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒 𝑜𝓇 𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 (𝟧𝟧𝟫) 𝓍𝓍𝓍-𝓍𝓍𝓍𝓍.'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James promptly pulls out his phone and types up Keith's number for contact information, setting the boy's profile picture as a hissing kitten before he put his phone away again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Part of James is anxious about meeting up with Keith at his own home. This is one of those times when James doesn't want to mess anything up that could chase Keith away. It alarms him. Truthfully, James' anxiety gets the larger of him on most days--overthinking causes him to panic, and after he shuts himself out to shield himself from potential rejection. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's why he exerts himself so strenuously in his academics, blocking out distractions and cryptic thoughts to keep himself from spiraling into a world of self-depreciation and irrational interpretations. It's unhealthy, James knows, but sometimes talking just takes too much energy; energy he doesn't have. He's learned to alleviate tension in healthier moves as well, like talking to himself or talking to his ragdoll Athena. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It helps, but it's easier to drown himself in books.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James steals a glance upward, finding Keith watching him with carefully observing eyes, lips pursed in thought, almost as if he was waiting for something. James' heart swells with warmth by the worried gleam in Keith's eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith signs to him, pointing at James and then fingerspelling </span>
  <em>
    <span>OK? </span>
  </em>
  <span>with a questioning look in his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James sits up straight, smiling assuringly as he nods. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'm okay, don't worry. </span>
  </em>
  <span>he signs back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unsure but accepting, Keith makes no move to push James further and instead picks up his mug, extending it out James. Keith makes a drinking motion with his hand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Drink,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he tells James, idling until James took the mug to begin signing again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You look anxious. Drink some tea. The sugar should help.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cup is warm in James' palms, already soothing the shaking that had driven up his fingers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's apparent he's savoring it because of the way Keith smiles under his palm, shoulders bobbing with muted, airy laughs. James nearly chokes on the drink with how in wonder he is at the way that grin illuminates Keith's eyes, radiating beams of joy that James doesn't typically see. Keith looks closed off, quiet, definitely not shy. James feels sanctified to even be in the presence of someone who when capable of emotion, lets it shine roaring and brilliant.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's beautiful to witness.. like a butterfly emerging from the cocoon and spreading its wings for the first time. Or watching spring flowers blossom along with the faint sunrise, dewdrops deflecting like diamonds on a ring, beckoning for just tender touch of the lips before it was to retreat into a fine mist. Even forest awakening at nightfall, crickets calling for their silent companions to emerge, for they are safe from watchful eyes, and they can let loose beneath the assurance of the stars. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They don't lie when they say silence is golden. By living as silent as the zephyr, only then will it be possible to observe a doe and her baby frolic and waltz amongst the wildflowers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As long as James is still and wary, Keith will open himself and generously offer his light. As long as James doesn't split a stick and rupture the symphony of silence, he can watch longingly as Keith blossoms and reddens with vitality. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like nature, Keith needs to be left unbothered to flourish. One little flick of the wrist and it could all come crumbling down in flames. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He's not calling Keith delicate, no way. He's only referring him to that of a weeping willow: so powerful, holding in luminous elegance and carrying so many meaningful scars, but can be so effortlessly consumed by a single ember. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James clenches his jaw. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He'd guard Keith against that ember. He'd set himself on fire if it means he can preserve that soft smile that was just so gorgeously </span>
  <em>
    <span>Keith</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It hurts. James hasn't known this boy for even a full week and he's already pining as though he's been in love with him for ages. <em>Oh, God</em>, it hurts so <em>bad</em>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James sets the mug back down on the little saucer in front of Keith. A short breath escapes him, willing himself to decompress enough to finally look Keith in his eyes. He picks up a napkin and a pen, quickly scribbling down a quick note before sliding the note over to Keith. '𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗. 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚊 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚊𝚛.'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith smiles. '𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓅 𝓎𝑜𝓊 :) 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒'𝓈 𝓃𝑜 𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓂𝑒; 𝐼'𝓂 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓅 ♥'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There's that <em>God</em> <em>forsook</em> heart again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'𝙸 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚝, 𝙺𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑,' James laughs fondly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'𝒪𝒻 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒 ♥ 𝐼'𝓋𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝒻𝒶𝒾𝓇 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝓃𝓍𝒾𝑒𝓉𝓎 𝒾𝓈𝓈𝓊𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑒𝓅𝒾𝓈𝑜𝒹𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒. 𝑀𝓎 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓅 𝓂𝑒 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓈.'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James doesn't want to violate boundaries, but he's so curious as to what could've possibly crumble this young man. '𝙸𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎.' he comments, opening the napkin a bit so they had more room to write. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other shrugs dismissively. '𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝑒𝓈𝓃'𝓉, 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝓊𝓅 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝑒𝓁𝓈𝑒.' Keith crosses his legs so he's more pressed tightly together, closed off, and less exposed. His arms lay on his belly, back pressing more firmly against the booth seat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James takes that as a sign to not further address this topic. Instead, James shifts to something less ominous. '𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚐?'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Grateful, Keith leans forward to write, still crouched defensively. '𝒴𝑒𝒶𝒽, 𝒽𝑒'𝓈 𝒜𝓊𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓁𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝒮𝒽𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒𝒹 𝒦𝑜𝓈𝓂𝑜. 𝐻𝑒'𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒶 𝓅𝓊𝓅, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒶 𝒻𝑒𝓌 𝓎𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝑔𝑜, 𝒽𝑒'𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝓋𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓂𝒶𝓁.'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James makes a noise of awe, eyes widening with such interest Keith's heart began melting. '𝙸'𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚐 𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚕, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍/𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚎.'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'𝐼 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝒾𝓉. 𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒦𝑜𝓈𝓂𝑜'𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒. 𝐻𝑒'𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓇𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜𝑜, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝑒'𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹. 𝒜𝓁𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽, 𝐼'𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒶 𝓅𝑒𝑜𝓅𝓁𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃, 𝐼 𝒹𝑜 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝑜𝓅𝓁𝑒 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹, 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝒻 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝑒𝒻𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈. 𝐼𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁... 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓈𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒--'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scowling in annoyance, Keith moves the now-filled napkin to the side and replaces it with a fresh new page in his notebook. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'--𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝓅𝑒𝑜𝓅𝓁𝑒'𝓈 𝓃𝑒𝑔𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈. 𝒮𝑜, 𝐼 𝑔𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓇𝒾𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝒸𝓀𝓎 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐼 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉.. 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝓈𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝓉𝑜𝑜? 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒾𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓈𝑒.' </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James can't help but chuckle, finding it lovable how Keith clumsily floundered over his words, jumbling in hopes of making some sort of sense. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'𝙽𝚘 𝚗𝚘, 𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚑.'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'𝒜𝒽, 𝓈𝑜, 𝒶 𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶 𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒, 𝓎𝑒𝒶𝒽?'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James smiles with a snort, making Keith smile too. '𝙸 𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚜𝚘. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎.'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James truly feels sorry for people who can feel everyone's emotions and magnify it by ten. He can barely manage his <em>own</em> emotions; he'd never last as an empath, it'd be even more terrifying than just hearing his thoughts alone. He can't fathom the burden that rests on the shoulders of those who can sense suffering just by staring someone in the eye or listening to someone's narrative. Just imagining a person shredding their veins apart to stop feeling the streams of tears and blood leaks flooding their senses, <em>suffocating</em> them until there's physically no room to even scream for help. As the hand floats underwater, descending in the pits of helpless cries, the hapless angel that bared it all drowns in the blood of those left unsaved. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Being so responsible for the health and livelihood of others sounds <em>so heartbreaking</em>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James pales. Oh, this poor boy must be so distraught every single day of his life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith extends him a somber glance, eyes twinkling like stars drifting melodiously in their gentle nebula, but deep within, James could see that some stars are just waiting to split into a thousand tiny fragments. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lifts a creamy, delicate hand and writes, '𝐼𝓉 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒶 𝒽𝓊𝓃𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝓋𝑜𝒾𝒸𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃'𝓉 𝒶𝒸𝓉𝓊𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎.'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝙸 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍.'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith shakes his head. '𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜. 𝐼𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝒾𝒹, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃'𝓉 𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓁𝓎 𝒷𝑒 𝒶𝓈 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒.' </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tip of James' pen stops, resting numbly on the solid blue line, hesitating as if the line would betray him in some way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span><em>What does that mean? </em>James understands Keith isn't trying to dissuade James or call him ignorant. James knows Keith just needs him to realize that it isn't as artless as it appears; it's so much more than just voices in your head or feeling emotions on an intense level. It's so much more profound to where not even stitches can shut.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The point of James' pen taps against the empty line. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith called him <em>good</em>. James doesn't know what to make of that. Pain doesn't turn people in wrong directions, right? Keith doesn't seem like the person to inaugurate fights and bully because he needs to take out his fury on someone more vulnerable. Keith also doesn't seem like the kind of person to brandish a gun and fire left and right at anyone who's ever mistreated him. If he understands emotions so deeply, he wouldn't do anything that could cause more emotions to be felt right?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unless...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James' pen begins writing again, but Keith's gloved hand takes hold of his own and stops him mid-sentence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith smiles quietly and gives his hand a squeeze, eye giving him a mysterious but sympathetic look; like aloe over a sunburn. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rather than letting James continue writing, Keith takes his pencil, ostensibly neglecting James' unfinished question. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'𝐼'𝓋𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝑜. 𝐼'𝓂 𝓈𝓊𝓅𝓅𝑜𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝓁𝒾𝓃𝒾𝒸 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝓅𝓅𝑜𝒾𝓃𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉. 𝒲𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓀 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇, 𝑜𝓀𝒶𝓎?' Keith packs up his math book and papers, haphazardly pushing them into his bag and hurriedly zipping it up ere throwing it over his shoulder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is everything okay?</span>
  </em>
  <span> James signs, earning a faltering glance and a doubtful smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Keith signs back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My brother is just a big baby. Text me if you need me, okay? I'm gonna go. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He gives James' hand one last squeeze and salutes him before swiftly turning to hurry out the door and to his bike. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something tells James Keith is lying--it's hard to tell when signing, especially since Keith lacks facial expression when he communicates. He can only pick up little habits that are uncharacteristic for Keith; like shoving his things instead of filing them in order, or the way he abruptly moved along and left James without giving him a chance to wonder what could be wrong. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe he's late</span>
  </em>
  <span>, James thinks. <em>No...</em> Keith seriously looked too <em>panicked</em> for that. But he doesn't know if asking Keith would be propelling him too far.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For once James worries and overthinks about someone <em>other</em> than himself. He grieves about Keith's mental health, hoping that he was truly okay. It's strange to focus on Keith and not think about whether or not <em>he</em> messed up something that caused Keith to leave.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James glances down at his journal, looking for his tentative question to Keith, heart racing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>'𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏-'</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>James gnaws on his bottom lip, a cold sweat trickling down his hairline. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hopes whatever is churning in his belly is just insignificant anxiety.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn't know what the future would look like if it happened. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The motorcycle named is a gorgeous bike that's borderline illegal for the roads, but my mother refuses to let me ride a motorcycle &gt;:(</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am in no way romanticizing disabilities! Love notes are literally the key to my heart and I think it's ten times more adorable in this type of setting! </p>
<p>Please let me know if in any way I might be romanticizing these disabilities!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>